Home

I flew to Bozeman on the night of the 16th. My layovers were all very short, and I almost didn't have enough time to call my parents to tell them when I would get into Bozeman. Finding myself alone in the Bozeman airport after 26 hours of travel would have been a rough end to a long day, but my parents and grandma were at the airport and were a very welcome sight. My checked bag, however, could not keep up with me. I found out later that it hadn't even left Newark, my first stop after Dublin, until the following morning. I picked it up on the 18th, which will hopefully be the last time I have to go into any airports for awhile.

I've spent my time at home so far relaxing, seeing friends, and skiing. Staying warm is also high on the agenda. It was -14F when I landed in Bozeman and the ground blizzards are very sobering. I'm not sure if the Irish rain is better or worse than the cold. It's a matter of going from one miserable climate to another.

I have been asked a lot if it's weird being home. It is very good to be home, but I don't think it's weird at all. The weirdness instead comes from thinking about the differences between where I've been and where I am. It would be silly not to compare the two places. I always have to think about such assessments for a long time before they're straightened out enough to be comprehensible to anyone but me, but I'll take a swing at what I understand.

It's hard to put a finger on what it is that best describes the Irish. The place certainly isn't all shamrocks and leprachauns, especially in the North. The do enjoy their drink, but there are a few teetotalers in the North. It can't be called all Catholic or all Protestant in any part of the Ireland. Maybe it's the fact that nobody can agree on anything. The Irish do have a stereotype for fighting after all.

In this big melting pot of America there is plenty of disagreement. That's why America is special: we can think and do as we please. The difference, I believe, is that once someone becomes part of anything in Ireland, be it a religion, the Gaelic Athletic Association, a trade, or either side of any conflict, they stay there. This has proven to be a problem on more than one occasion, but compared to Americans' relative fickleness, I find their devotion and grasp of solidarity quite admirable.

The Irish have, *surprise*, different priorities than we do. Different doesn't have to be good or bad, that's just the way it is. To some Americans they could look lazy, but in their eyes we may look overworked. Going to the bars is something only rowdy college students and strange middle age men do right? To them, pubs are the center of their social circles and people of all ages go to them. Having a drink or two is an important part of life. What's wrong with prioritizing having a good time?

Would I like to go back? Sure. Maybe not just yet, but someday. There's plenty there that I didn't get to see, and there are a couple people I wouldn't mind seeing again. I'm a little surprised my mom wasn't more disappointed that I didn't bring home a redhead, but I spose I could try again later. We'll see I suppose.

And with that, I am proud to say I am satisfied, for now. Like everything else, I didn't care what happened, as long as I've got a story to tell.

County Offaly

I said my goodbyes to my Norn Irish and American buddies and left Newtownabbey on the 12th. I drove to Co Offaly in the south with my flatmate David Kelly. A few weeks ago I had planned on heading to Dublin and from there to Co Cork and Co Kerry right before I flew home. I realized this wouldn't work very well as I really only had three days and just the traveling would have taken at least eight hours each way. David offered to take me home and show me around for a few days, and I took him up on it.

Co Offaly is very near the center of Ireland, in the midlands or heartland. When Americans go to Ireland, it is generally assumed that they will go to Dublin. Other places such as Cork, Kerry, and the west coast are possibilities, with Belfast and the rest of Northern Ireland being a bit less common. The midlands are not a big tourist hotspot, so I would liken an American going there to someone from southern Europe going to Iowa. It just doesn't happen much. I relish getting off the beaten path for if nothing else than to say I have.

The Kellys own about 150 acres near Tober and run about 170 beef cows and 100 ewes. I helped them feed and clean their sheds for the couple days I was there and did my best to explain the differences between our ways of farming. Being just a dumb cowhand I was genuinely stumped by a few questions, but I did impress them with my equipment expertise. Some years they can make hay but almost all of their feed is in silage, and they found it hard to believe that we could make hay the way we do. The extremes of the Montana climate were stretches of the Irish imagination, as was the idea of not having enough water. I enjoyed being out in the country and around cows and equipment again. David let me drive one of their Masseys and even drive their 'jeep' farm Land Rover on the highway.

David also showed me some of the local sights. On Saturday, we went through the Kilbeggan whiskey distillery. The main sourse of power for the equipment was the River Brosna. The water wheel and all the machinery are still intact. They also have a steam engine, which was used about three days a year when the distillery was still in operation. On Sunday we went to the Clonmacnoise monastery on the River Shannon. Many of the churches, high crosses, and shrines are still intact. Pope John Paul II visited in 1979 and the alter in one corner of the site is the only modern structure. We stopped in Athlone afterwards, one of the larger towns in Offaly. I didn't carry my camera around Athlone but I wish I had because it was one of the most picturesque towns I had seen in Ireland. Music sessions aren't as common in the midlands but David had heard of one in Athlone. It was in Sean's Pub, established circa 600, making it the oldest in Ireland. It was the exact image that one would have in their mind of an Irish pub: a little dark, with holly on the ceiling, sawdust on the crooked floor, and some very fine music coming from one corner; and it wasn't a bit touristy. On my last day in Ireland, David and I went to Tullamore, the county town. Tullamore Dew whiskey was made here. It's a cozy little town, very festively lit and decorated for Christmas. We spent my last evening reminiscing about the last few months and playing pool at the Cat and Bagpipes pub in Tober. Having a few pints in an old man pub is the way such an occasion should be spent. We woke up at 4:30 the next morning and made our way to Dublin.

My time in Ireland would have been very different had it not been for David. Taking a politics class and getting out and about seeing things are good ways to learn, but spending a great deal of time with a truly Irish Irishman was invaluable and may be the most memorable part of my time abroad. David taught me a large portion of what I know about what the Irish are really about. I am in debt to the Kellys of Tober, County Offaly, and hope I can show David my part of the world someday to repay them.

My Last Weekend in Belfast

I've been quite busy the last ten days or so, seeing people and doing things I may not get to do again. Most of them are just little things, but I was out and about a lot this weekend.

I went to dinner on Friday with Zach Silverman and two Norn Irish friends of mine, Aaron "Big A" Douglas and Paul Sloan. We ate at a Portugese chicken place because Big A knows I love my spicy food, and I had a strong hankerin' coming on. To compare the spiciness palates of Americans and Irish, the least spicy option on the menu was a bit too much for Paul while I was happy as could be taking spoonfuls of extra hot sauce and bathing my chicken and chips in it. Also, I met Paul about a month ago and this was the first time he realized I was American. We wandered through the very festive Belfast Continental Market and admired the lights.

Big A grew up on the Shankill in west Belfast, which is a very staunch Protestant area wedged between the very Catholic Falls Road and Crumlin Road. Paul grew up on the Falls. Both know a great deal about the Troubles and both have very vivid and different memories of them. It would defy common sense to think that I met one through the other, but there's much more to the situation here than Catholic-Protestant hatred. It may be best to leave the details for discussion when I get back.

On Saturday, Zach, Ashley Neff, Naomi Shaw, and I took our friend Sam McGeown up on his offer to show us some of the sights around Belfast that can only be seen by car. Our first stop was the Titanic quarter. A 900' by 128' dock is where the hull of the Titanic was fitted out and finished by 30,000 workers. The ship was floated in and a gate was shut behind it. Three 1,000 hp pumps drained the enormous dock in an hour and a half. When the ship was finished, the dock was filled again, and the Titanic sail out of it, never to return. I'm afraid I told a few of you wrong when I said the huge yellow "H&W" cranes on the skyline built the Titanic. Samson and Goliath went up after the Titanic was built. Harland and Wolff did build the Titanic though.

From there we went through east Belfast, the home of Van Morrison and Narnia author CS Lewis. We stopped to see a memorial for Lewis. East Belfast is very divided, with a good deal of murals from the Troubles and Union Jacks flying in the Unionist areas. It seems that the more sectarian an area is, the more rundown it is. Or is it the other way round?

We went outside the city to the Giant's Ring, which is called a dolmen. Dolmen are rings of dirt surrounding about four acres and a pile of rocks in the center. No one knows how or why these mini stonehenges were built, but they are apparently fairly common in Ireland. The day couldn't have been any better for exploring. The air was comfortably crisp, and we all looked cautiously for a cloud in the sky all day long, but couldn't ever find any. Very strange, but welcome. As we were leaving, a man was getting his RC plane ready.

West Belfast was the last part of the tour. We started up the Crumlin Road and from there crossed to Shankill and then the Falls, spending just enough time to look at the murals, and there were plenty. Some mourned the deaths of the innocent, but others memorialized the deaths of paramilitary men, who were remembered by extremists as martyrs. Purely cultural murals are being encouraged, but are rare. There is a single road between the Falls and Shankill, and it is closed at night. The gate on that road is about the best evidence anywhere that old habits die hard. The British troops and armored jeeps are gone, but the memories are strong and the feelings are deepseated among every generation. The vast majority of the population wants the Troubles to be over with, but there are still the odd few who still think there is something to be gained by keeping those old habits alive. That's far from the whole story, but in any case, that gate won't come down soon.

Many thanks to Sam McGeown for his great understanding of the history of his home.

Thanksgiving in Ireland

On Black Friday, three other Americans and I cooked ourselves Thanksgiving dinner. We made a trip to the grocery store for all the necessary ingredients and prepared a feast together. We had a too-big (i.e. just right) turkey, plenty of potatoes, creamed corn, sweet potatoes, green beans, gravy, a pecan pie, and a buttermilk pie. I made the two pies myself, and we all worked on the rest of the meal. We had two bottles of wine, some cider, and two cases of Stella. We had leftovers of everything but the wine. Zach, Christina, Ashley, and I were all very pleased with how everything came together and our mothers should be proud.

I am thankful for my adorable niece and I hope she enjoyed her first Thanksgiving. I am thankful for friends and family that will always listen. I am thankful for being able to spend such an important day with friends who make it feel like home even though we're far from it. I am thankful for knowing where home is better than most other members of my generation. I am thankful for this opportunity to much better appreciate my home. Indeed, I am thankful.

Doing Things the Nate Way

I would like it to be understood that I was happy to do this to get to the wedding.

Now to talk about the bookends of the wedding trip: the traveling. It has occurred to me lately that I am trying my damnedest to disprove the idea that I am a "smart" person. My best piece of evidence is how I got from from Belfast to Newark last week. I booked my London-Newark flight well before the Belfast-London flights, for whatever reason. The London-Newark flight left at 9am on Thursday, and there are no flights out of Belfast that early, so I flew to London on Wednesday. The hotel in Heathrow was closed by the time I got to it, and the public transit doesn't run at 5:30am when I would have needed to check in, so I spent the night in Heathrow. I mean this loosely, because I only took about four 40 minute naps on a bench. This was NOT a good time, especially when the cops woke me up at about 1:30 by looming over me. It was one of the worst experiences I've ever had.

I flew to Detroit (more evidence for my case) the next morning, with virtually no sleep on the eight hour flight. I had heard immigration can be a little sticky even for Americans, but I was pleasantly surprised when the officer said: "Ireland huh? Cool." *Stamp*

The Detroit to Newark flight was easy. I had a little trouble finding the hotel shuttles at the airport, and found the wrong Hilton shuttle first, of course. It took about two hours to finally get to the right Hilton, which I left immediately after to get to Manhattan. I had been awake (except for the naps) for 40 hours when I got to dinner. I was up for another four hours until I got to Jean's apartment that night. By then I was barely coherent and probably didn't remember my own name.

I was never quite right all weekend, but I did my best. By the time I left I suppose my timezone was somewhere over Nova Scotia, possibly Maine. It's Wednesday afternoon now and I'm still not quite back on Belfast time.

I was a bit worried about immigration at Heathrow after their threat two months ago to turn me around if I didn't change some things, but it was clear I would only be in the UK for another three weeks, so I got through easily enough. I didn't need a single scrap of the documentation I had. Heathrow is unlike other airports in that it divides its terminal corridors to segregate inbound/outbound passengers. The way they shut doors behind the different groups before others can move reminds me a lot of sorting cows in a corral. In case it's not clear, I don't like Heathrow.

After flying about 9,100 miles in five days, I stumbled back into my room. This end of the trip had only taken about 26 hours door to door. If you ever need advice on a trip, and want to ask me, stop and think about what you're doing. Either I am not as bright as I've apparently fooled some into thinking or there is roughly a 100% chance of me dramatically screwing up the first time I try anything. There is definitely a better way to do this traveling business, and if I ever plan myself into a situation like that again, I am fired.

Congratulations Noah and Jean!

A week ago I flew back to New Jersey for Noah's wedding. There are some details to the traveling that I will go into later. I got to Newark mid-afternoon Thursday and made my way to Noah's work in Manhattan. From there we walked to the oldest pizzeria in Manhattan and ate with Jim, Chris, Emily, Sven, Jean, and Noah's Belgian host family from ten years ago Rudy and Mika. It was great to see everyone. We met Aaron, Courtney, and Elayna (ACE) when we got back to the Hilton in Newark. Elayna is HUGE and no pictures can do her justice.

There wasn't much scheduled for Friday, so Jim, ACE, and I went back to Manhattan to pick up a couple tuxes. Jim took the tuxes back to the hotel so the rest of us could do some exploring. We got another hefty dose of the NYC subways and went to about 60th street. We saw the southeast corner of Central Park, ate at a so-so burger place, and wandered around FAO Schwartz, a massive toy store. Elayna hadn't been feeling well most of the day, so we cut the trip a little short and headed back to Newark. The rehearsal dinner was held at a Korean restaurant and was fantastic. I've had Korean food twice, and it amazes me how much can be set on a table. I was still on Belfast time so by about 7pm I was fading, but I had a good visit with my dad and aunt's cousin Willa, who lives in Astoria, and one of the groomsmen, Matt. I stayed at the Hilton that night, in the bridal suite with Noah. I'll let you use your imagination to picture what it was like getting the room keys from the front desk.

The big day started at 6am for Noah and his groomsmen, but the other half of the bridal party got up at 4. A limo took Noah, the other groomsmen, and I to Edgewater, NJ to pick up Jean and her bridesmaids. We were hopefully the classiest people to go to Starbucks that morning. The pictures were taken by the river, and it was frigid.

The ceremony was held on the 22nd floor of the Newark Center, which had an unreal view of the city and the river. It went smoothly, with just enough memorable quirks to chuckle about later. Jean was beautiful, and Noah's tallness was thoroughly admired.

The reception was a great success, with singing and dancing by a very agreeable crowd. Elayna tried her best to show up Jean. I was glad to visit with my Pennsylvania cousins, especially Blake who spent two summers irrigating and haying for us.

Noah and Jean stayed in the Ritz Carlton that night, so a small group of us had drinks in its 14th floor bar after the reception. The place has a great view of the New York skyline. Noah and Jean have a fun group of friends and I'm glad to have met them, especially Matt Matera and Jon Blank, the groomsmen. I was truly honored to even be with Noah and Jean on their wedding day, not to mention to be Noah's best man. Congratulations Noah and Jean!

I flew out the next morning, back to Belfast and the last few weeks of my Irish experience.

Bagpipery

Zach Silverman and I took a trip to Armagh yesterday. I had heard about an annual piping festival there and immediately put it on my calendar. I was a bit unsure of what to expect from such an event, but I was very curious.

We got to Armagh around noon and caught a lunch music session in a bar. If I had expected anything from the festival it would be that kind of music, with a couple uilleann pipers, a 9-year-old concertina player, and a couple fiddlers doing their thing. As soon as the session was over, we walked outside for a very impressive outdoor concert. The band playing consisted of fourteen highland pipes, about fourteen small French woodwinds, two snare drums, a large bass drum, and a full drum set. I'm no bagpipe expert but their music was unlike any other bagpipe music I've ever heard. The power of that many bagpipes with the strong bassline underneath was amazing and made the hair stand up on my neck, especially when all the bags were inflated and fourteen sets of pipes all stood up at once. It's no wonder they used to lead armies into battle.

We wandered around the town for awhile between concerts. Armagh has two cathedrals, and the Catholic cathedral is enormous. Armagh may be one of the more attractive cities in Northern Ireland because of the hills on which it was built. Some of its streets had been redone recently and gave the town a much fresher look than most others. The theatre and arts centers were also fairly new and were well suited for such an event.

The second concert was much different from the first. Four musicians from all over Europe each played a set. The first was Spanish and played one kind of pipes, the second was from Northumbria in Britain and played the border pipes attributed to that county, the third was Bulgarian and played a kind of pipes from the Balkans, and the fourth was French and played the Scottish highland pipes and the biennu pipes. I had no idea there was so much to bagpiping and that it was so widespread. For some, listening to bagpipes all day may be the definition of a nightmare, but I very much enjoyed it and learned a lot.

Also, while waiting for the bus back to Belfast I was hit on my two girls because of my accent. I've been here more than two months and this was a first. Then again, I might meet a few more girls if I wasn't in the old man pubs all the time. The girls didn't stick around long, so that was the end of that.

As I write this I am only a couple days away from my trip to New Jersey for Noah and Jean's wedding. I am very excited to see most of my family again and to be back on American soil. It won't be Montana, but I'll sure take it anyway. There are two very important things on my to-do list once I arrive: have a REAL cup of coffee, and eat an American cheeseburger.

Comber

I spent last weekend in Comber, Co Down and stayed with a friend of Greg and Sarah Clark. Diane Presho met Greg and Sarah on an exchange to MSU and was even Sarah's maid of honor in their wedding. I was at the wedding and Diane was shocked to know that I was ten or eleven at the time. She showed me the the many things worth seeing in the Comber area, including the scenery around Strangeford Lough, Sketrick Castle, Nendrum monastic site, and Scrabo tower above Newtonards. I very much enjoy getting off the beaten path and seeing these out of the way sites. To me, they're just as interesting, if not more, than major attractions in big cities, and come without the crowds and the feeling that you have to rush to see it all.

On Sunday, I was treated to a home-cooked lunch with Diane, her parents, and her brother. They live on a small farm and I was showed around the place. Most farms in Ireland are smaller, at least acreage-wise, than ranches in Montana. Diane's dad took me to a neighbor's farm though, and I was surprised. Four brothers own 1100 acres, 500 dairy cows, and 700 beef cows, which is a huge holding for Ireland. Not only that, but they custom cut 5000 acres for silage and another 2000 acres of grain. They showed me their very impressive equipment shed and I drove one of their five New Holland tractors. I was thrilled (really) to stand out in the cold and talk about hay equipment and how they put up silage.

Between the food and drink, the site-seeing, and the conversation, last weekend was one of the most enjoyable I've had since I got here. Diane mentioned more than once that she loved her time in Montana and was happy to repay the kindness that she had been shown. I will be more than willing to do the same for anyone who might come to Montana in a similar situation.

Many thanks to Diane Presho and her family for their hospitality, and to the Clarks for helping to make the world a bit smaller.

Another Weekend Come and Gone

I made good on my claim of wandering off some afternoon. I traveled to northern county number five on my list and went to Omagh, Co. Tyrone on Thursday afternoon. It's about two hours to the west of Belfast and has about 40,000 people. I stayed the night at the Omagh Hostel just for the sake of getting out of Belfast for more than a day. From my past experiences at hostels I expected there to be at least a couple other people staying there, but I was the only inhabitant that night, except for the Vermonter who appeared out of the attic rather suddenly after I had been there for a couple hours. The hostel was about three miles out of town, so I didn't get to go out and experience the sparse nightlife.

The next day I asked around to see what in the town was worth seeing, and was surprised that even the locals don't talk up their town much. I found the memorial to the victims of the Omagh bombing of 1998 and took several pictures of it which are on my shutterfly page, along with the rest of the sites. I had heard that Omagh had some noteable music shops, but I only found one. I played their fiddles for the better part of an hour and tried out a tenor banjo for the sake of curiosity, but didn't find anything I couldn't live without.

I found my way back to Belfast that afternoon, but decided to be one of very few people in Ireland who didn't make a big deal out of Halloween. Wherever I was after dark, fireworks went off and seemed very close. A lot of the people I know here dressed up and even went all the way to Derry for the street parties, but I just played poker at a friend's house.

I went to the John Hewitt session on Saturday night because my friend Zach wanted to show his girlfriend Haley some real Irish music while she was here on a visit. The musicians welcomed me back like they have before, but I am still very slow at picking up their tunes. I am realizing just how high the learning curve is in this game, not just because of the very high degree of difficulty and quality in the music here, but also in my abilities, or lack thereof. I haven't been kicked out of the place or anything, but I have been humbled.

While at the John Hewitt, Zach and Haley were joined at their table by two couples from Cushendall on the northern coast. We ran into them later in the night, and they were an interesting bunch. Going to pubs and visiting with strangers "for the craic, the beer, and the banter, but mostly the beer" was something they took very seriously. They aren't at the pubs all the time, but when they do, they take all of their kids, and everyone has a great time socializing for the sake of it. It is their hobby. This is about as clear a contrast between Ireland and the States as I can imagine.

I spend quite a bit of time in my flat than I let on, cooking my college student meals and sometimes being studious. I visit with my flatmates during the week but they all go home during the weekend, leaving me with a very quiet flat. I entertain myself one way or another, and one of my favorites is listening to Prairie Home Companion on the internet. I've listened to it for quite a while now, and have made a habit of tuning in to pass the time during those long July Saturday afternoons spent on the swather. Listening to the news from Lake Wobegon, where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average, is a very comforting reminder of home, even if home's in Montana.

Being a Homebody/Freezing to Death

This last week and a half has reminded me why I am not a history or politics major. I've had two math assignments to do for the last two weeks, and have started working on one of my politics assignments at the same time. I can sit and scratch out math problems, and not easy ones if I may pat myself on the back, for two or three hours at a time. I even get some of em right. But writing a 2000 word research paper is pretty painful. I'll tolerate it for an hour at the very most, with maybe 200 words put on a page at a time, before I wind up wiki-ing or youtubing something. Next thing I know, an hour and a half is shot. It would almost certainly not get done if I had waited much longer to start it.

I went to a session at the John Hewitt on Saturday. The session corner was already full by the time I got there though, so I didn't get to play. But all the musicians I had met earlier remembered me, and even my name. They're a good bunch and they keep inviting me back. Instead, I visited with an older Brit who had grown up in Belfast. He was a uillean piper but was just listening that night. He had left Belfast in 1983, in the middle of the Troubles. His perspective was a valuable one because he could remember how Northern Ireland had been at its worst, and the changes for the better were perhaps more apparent to him after living elsewhere. I was glad to have met him when he told me "25 years ago, Belfast wasn't exactly a tourist city, with everyone being checked for bombs. To see anyone willing to live here or even be here is a breath of fresh air."

It is absolutely freezing here. Yesterday was wickedly cold, with sleet coming from a cloudless sky. Today was very miserable, with a constant cold drizzle and snow in the hills. I've experienced humid heat but not humid cold. It's not even below freezing yet, but that moist cold cuts deep.

I haven't done any traveling since my trip to Dublin. This has been good for my "studying," but not good for my boredom. I have a list of places to see before I go, and many of the weekends are filling up. I may just wander off and jump on a bus some afternoon.

For those of you who don't already know, I will be coming home in December. I made a huge mistake with my visa, and despite the great relations between the US and Britain, both countries love their red tape, meaning I cannot fix the problem from here. However, I refuse to write off the entire trip as a failure because of the mistake. Eight months would have been great, but three months works too. I've been living in a city that many people wouldn't even consider visiting because they expect to be shot or hit with a grenade. I am making the very most of my time here but I also enjoy saying "Fine UK, if you don't want me, I'll adventure elsewhere."

Dublin

I am getting into more and more of a groove here as the weeks fly by. I pretty well have my classes and all that goes with them figured out, and I have a fairly clear idea of what's going to happen throughout the rest of the semester. The big challenges will be actually sitting down to do the work, having my weekend adventures, and finding the right balance between the two.

My latest weekend adventure was a trip to Dublin. It was my first trip out of Northern Ireland. Like many other cities, it is growing, and I counted at least 18 cranes against the skyline on my way in. I met up with three other friends who had left that morning for a meeting. Once we had gotten together at the hotel and figured out a plan, we went back to the city center for Friday night revelry. We went to the Temple Bar area, which is a narrow, cobblestone street that is closed off to traffic and filled with restaurants and of course, countless bars. We searched for the actual Temple Bar and spent a good part of the evening there. The girls I was with aren't Guinness fans, but I took my first opportunity to try real Dublin Guinness, and it was everything I ever hoped for. I did buy one of the girls her first Guinness ever though, and she may be slowly converting. The Temple Bar is a big place with a wide range of clientele, and we were surprised when the first person we ran into was a friend from Jordanstown. The place was not lacking in characters.

After completely blowing by our plan of getting up at 8 to start touring, we were on our way back to the city center at 11:30. We joined a hop-on, hop-off tour that makes a big loop of Dublin City. We went by Trinity College, O'Connell Street with its monuments and spire, St. Stephen's Green, Christ Church Cathedral, St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Parliament Building, the last remnant of the city's wall, Kilmainham Gaol, an asylum, the Old Jameson whiskey distillery, and Phoenix Park.

St. Stephen's Green is a park in the city center area that was funded largely by the Guinness family. Christ Church and St. Patrick's are enormous and almost within shouting distance of each other. Both had huge flying buttresses, but I couldn't get any good pictures of either church. The center of medieval Dublin was circled by a wall that was roughly ten feet tall. The more elite lived within the walls, and the less better off lived outside them, in what was called "The Liberties." Kilmainham Gaol was once a prison and is strangely one of the most heavily visited places in Dublin. The asylum was funded completely by Jonathan Swift, the author of Gulliver's Travels. Swift had no children because he believed he was insane. He donated his entire estate to the construction of a place where the "insane could scream in peace." Phoenix park is a 1,750 acre park in the nothern part of the city. Many monuments are within the park, along with the US ambassador's residence and the Irish president's residence. An area within the park now used for playing rugby, football, cricket, and gaelic footfall is called "The Fifteen Acres" because it was once the place where gentlemen would duel for their honor. The Papal Cross is also within the park. 1.25 million people gathered around it to hear Pope John Paul II say mass.

We hopped-off the bus to see Nassua Street, Grafton Street, and the Guinness Storehouse. Nassua Street was a typical touristy street in Dublin, but a tweed shop caught my eye and I couldn't help but look inside. Grafton Street was recommended by one of my flatmates and was a walking mall from Trinity College to the gate of St. Stephen's Green. It had all kinds of shops and was bustling. A classical string quartet, two old guys playing chess, clowns, guitar players, and a very entertaining (borderline creepy) puppeteer were all along the street and were worth the walk themselves.

In the Guinness Storehouse, enthusiasts take a self-guided tour through a building that once held the fermenting vessels for Guinness Stout. The ingredients of stout, the steps taken in its production, the many facets of Guinness's history, and a tasting room are all along the tour. The tour takes the visitor up seven stories and at the top, the Gravity Bar is where very probably the best Guinness of their life is waiting for the visitor. The bar is circular with wide windows, and a fantastic view of all of Dublin is to be had.

Culture Shock, So Far

Before I came to Ireland, I had the preconceived notion that all Irish accents were the same. This is untrue. I have begun to hear slight distinctions in the regional accents.

Southern and northern accents are about as different as southern and northern accents in the States. The best single example that comes to mind is the word 'through.' In the south, it sounds like 'true,' while in most of the north it sounds similar to 'three.' The Irish in the south are so devoted to the 't' sound of words with 'th' that 'loathed' is pronounced 'loaded.' Few words sound the same in both accents, but the tagalong phrases are the dead giveaways. Irish from the Republic rarely say 'mate' like Northern Irish but add 'so it is/was' to the ends of most everything.

My flatmate Paul is from Ballymena, and I can understand him roughly 60% of the time. Ballymena is only 45 minutes or an hour from Belfast, but people from the Belfast area are fairly easy to understand. Paul admits to getting lost in the Belfast accent. Another flatmate, David, from Offaly in the south, has trouble getting the gist of what Paul says sometimes. Each area has their particular lilt.

Another notion I had before I came here was that the older Irish would tend to avoid foreigners while the young would be more open and curious. This has proven to be nearly backwards. In general, the Irish tend to stick to themselves, but the older Irish have been more willing to engage this young, dumb American. I do my best disprove the American stereotype of being fat, lazy, and ignorant, and they are almost unfailingly willing to listen and give a friendly response. The elections almost always come up. The younger Irish have been friendly once approached, but in many cases my hand was the first to be offered. For those of you who know me well, you'd understand that this is a challenge.

The novelty of the international crowd has been gone for some time now. The idea of sitting in a kitchen filled mostly with strangers who hardly speak English and listening to electronic club music isn't terribly appealing. Watching the different nationalities over the course of the last month and a half has been a learning experience though. Each country sticks together, Americans included. However, when asked why I chose Ireland, I usually say "music, culture," etc. I asked an Italian the same question, and without hesitation he responded "to learn English." From the attitudes of the internationals, I have gathered that for the most part, the Americans are the only group willing to disperse into the culture and really learn about Ireland. It baffles me why someone would move all the way to Ireland and not want to interact with the Irish enough to learn anything more than English. Of course, they're probably just as confused by my fiddling and appreciation for old timers in tweed.

I've been spending quite a bit of time with my neighbor David. He isn't around on the weekends, but during the week we usually eat together at least once a day and sometimes three times a day. We both feel the boredom of student housing, and visit over tea on many an evening. He comes from a farming background also, so we've compared and contrasted Irish and American "cattle farming" a good deal, among other topics. There are many differences between agriculture in County Offaly and Montana, but many of the values translate. If I come back with any accent at all, it'll be be a southern accent and it'll be entirely David's fault.

First Sessions

I made my first attempt at playing in the pubs this weekend. I went into Belfast Friday night planning on going to a few pubs just to listen to music and have a drink. Christina Lind and I met another friend of ours by the City Hall and went to Kelly's Cellars. I've been there a couple times and like it because it actually feels like a cellar. We had planned on meeting someone at Madden's later on, so we made our way there. Madden's is rather dark inside but has a warm, cozy feeling to it. A bagpiper and a mandola player were starting to play when we got there. Both were great and I visited with them for some time.

"Where's your fiddle?"
--Hazlett, a Belfast Mandola player
"In Newtownabbey"
--Me
"Nah mate, you never come to Belfast without a weapon."
--Hazlett

An American fiddler showed up, along with an American banjo player. I thanked them for the music and got up to go back to my table but they put the fiddle in my hands. I played a song that I knew for them, and they joined in. I didn't know any of their tunes but sat for one more with them.

The fiddler from Madden's told me about a session on Saturday evenings at the John Hewitt. The session was well underway when I got there at 7. A left-handed fiddle, a bohdran, a mandolin, a banjo, an accordian, and five flutes surrounded two tables in the front corner of the place. This corner was elevated above the rest of the pub and had just enough room for everyone. I liked the feeling of the musicians being apart from the rest of the public. All of the gentleman were older locals that knew each other well, but were very welcoming to a young American with questionable musical talent. I was bought two pints besides the one I had gotten myself. I had a faint memory of one of the tunes they played, but not enough to play it well. I didn't get much playing in to speak of because of my slow ear-to-brain-to-finger reactions, but did start to get the flavor of real Irish music. I will return the this session.

Zach Silverman and Brad Robinson met me at the John Hewitt, and after a stop at the American Embassy (McDonald's) we made our way to The Hercules. The Herc has music on its second floor, which feels like a cave because of its lack of windows. This was a large session, and I cannot recall how many people or instruments were there. I heard from others at the session that one fiddler and one flute player were notable and well known in session circles. The musicians there were also quite friendly but the atmosphere was a little more intense. There were more than enough instruments there to get lost in all the racket. It will take several sessions to really get into the swing of the music and learn to pick out the tunes and play them. It's a lesson I should have learned years ago, but here I am. I will make the most of the time and opportunity and immerse myself in some of the the finest music there is.

Ramblings

First off, I have badly neglected to plug my picture site. Go to natecoxmt.shutterfly.com to see pictures of my trip. I thought about switching my blog to that site as well, but decided not to. I will continue my written updates here.

Also, I love hearing from any and all of you who might be reading my blogs, so please leave comments.

I find it hard to believe that I left Montana four weeks ago today. It really does not feel like I've been gone for that long. On the other hand, I have covered some serious ground, both between here and home and within Northern Ireland. I've worn out a pair of shoes that were barely broken in when I left.

I am losing my taste for rain. At home, it is an occasional, almost rare, event that is welcomed and usually enjoyed. Here, it is a very regular, almost constant part of life. Last summer, I was driven to near madness by three weeks of rain, sleet, and snow. It didn't help that I was outside a lot during that time, but I am unsure how I will handle several months of near-constant drizzling. I love sunshine and will love it more when I am out of Ireland. Speaking of which, I am certain I am one of the tannest people on the island.

Before I left, I was constantly told that I would come back a completely changed person. I adamently refused these accusations. As each day passes though, I do see some changes happening. My potato baking skills are getting so good, I'm going to make some of you uncomfortable. They're that good.

Also, there seemed to be a quiet consensus that I would slip a little too easily into the Irish lifestyle and become an alcoholic. While I very much enjoy the ciders, lagers, stouts, and pub atmosphere, odds are slim at best that I will become a full blown drunk because a typical pint unloads me of 2.80 pounds, or about $5.20. And that's cheap for Ireland. I can remember two times when I bought more than one drink in a day, and they were weeks ago.

I went to mass at St. Peter's cathedral on Sunday evening. I had planned on going that morning but got the bus times confused. St. Peter's is about half a mile down Falls Road, which is a sketchy part of Belfast in the daytime, not to mention at night. I had to have a pint beforehand to have enough courage to walk down it by myself. It was a good thing I stopped for the drink where I did though, because I found another church right by my two favorite pubs. Both of the pubs have traditional music sessions. It might sound strange to be in a pub before and/or after going to mass, and this paragraph sort of contradicts the previous one, but when in Rome...

Week Three

This week started pretty slow, but flew by later on as I got busier. I only have one class on Mondays and Wednesdays with no class on Tuesdays, so the early part of the week is pretty open. I did make an admireable attempt to do reading for classes though, including a respectable stay in the library. It's a little hard to get back into the swing of studying after a five month break.

I went to the iCafe dinner for the third week in a row on Wednesday and have decided to make a habit of it. The food is great as is the crowd. Not as many internationals are going anymore, but there are always quite a few Irish. A guitar appeared last week, and my fiddle may be making an appearance.

Speaking of which, I finally discovered where the traditional music sessions are in Belfast. A handful of pubs have them, some of them six nights a week. Open sessions don't start until later in the evening though, and this makes it difficult to play for very long without having to catch an expensive cab. I am determined to play though and will find my way around this problem somehow. I was in one of the aforementioned pubs last weekend when a small group was playing a guitar, a concertina, and bagpipes, and was reminded of why I wanted to come to Ireland in the first place.

Thursday is my long day, and it started even earlier than expected or wanted because of a fire drill. I was thrilled, to say the least, to be done with two three hour engineering math sessions. There wasn't much time for relaxing though because I played football/soccer with about 21 Irish and two other Americans. I've done a lot of walking since I've been here, easily over 4 or 5 miles on several days. I'm not too sore after these days, besides a little joint pain. I consider myself in pretty good shape after being on the ranch all summer, but that hour of playing made me quite sore. 11 or 12 per side soccer is easier and requires less end-to-end running than 5 aside, so I'm really gonna be hurting if I play again soon. I held my own though, for an American, considering I played for a few years and reffed for four.

The fire drill was interestingly the first time my four flatmates and I had all been together at once. The fifth guy introduced himself when I ran into him in the kitchen on Monday or Tuesday. Sightings are still infrequent. I've had several chances to get to know the others however. I visited with Andrew and David for two hours one day, mostly about politics and sports, and another three hours with David later on. I eat meals with David almost regularly. Paul is a little harder to catch, but he did play football/soccer on Thursday.

Thursday night also held one of the most ridiculous experiences of the trip so far. A few Americans were visiting from London, and this was more than a good excuse for a party as far as the internationals were concerned. Though it started off slow, there were eventually either 38 or 40 people in a 12 by 18 kitchen. Yes, I counted. What amazes me is that it's completely within bounds. Doing anything anywhere near like that at a dorm at MSU would probably get you evicted. Luckily, it wasn't my kitchen so I could get some sleep.

I had one class on Friday, then went on a grocery trip, this time at the Tesco in Carrickfergus. The train ticket was well worth not having to walk 3 miles one way.

On Saturday morning, four Americans, a Turkish girl, and I rode the train to the city of Derry in County Londonderry. It was very rainy, but we walked the walls around the center of the city, which are about 400 years old. Within the walls is Protestant and outside the walls the city is Catholic. Churches and cathedrals are visible from just about anywhere on the walls. We went into St. Columb's cathedral and St. Eugene's cathedral. Fighting the rain and 10 year olds with bottlerockets, we walked around part of the city outside of the walls. Murals from the Troubles are on many of the buildings. One of the Americans summed up the experience by guessing that more had happened in the city than we could ever imagine. I realized I get that feeling most anywhere I go in Ireland.

Northern Irish Food

On the whole, I am rather impressed by food in Northern Ireland. My expectations, based upon what I was told by other tourists to the UK and Ireland, were that food would be bland and overpriced. It is easy to find food that is both of these things, but good food can be fairly cheap. Being a college student, I especially like the cheap part.

On a day to day basis, I can make three meals in a day for about half of the price of one decent meal at a restaurant. This takes planning and some tolerance of repetition. Creativity is needed to avoid the repetition. This could sound a little scary, but nothing I've made so far comes anywhere near the scariness of what was concocted last year by my old roommate Larry and I. If the day comes when I need to make chickpea chili on rice, it's time to go home.

The Tesco supermarkets here offer just about everything I'll need for groceries. I may have to go without hot peppers for awhile, but I'll get by. Typical things eaten day to day are porridge (oatmeal), sandwiches, scones, soup, potatoes, pasties, pastas, and chicken pies. Sausage is quite good. I was surprised by the quality of the cheapo generic brands. Everything generic I've tried so far has been much better than any American generics. I may get wild and crazy some week and try some name brands to compare.

Prices for groceries are a touch higher than Montana prices, but this varies.

Eating out is necessary every now and then. Fish and chips places are everywhere, but I've only been in one once. That one experience almost convinced me that I would be eating bland, overpriced food for several months. Good food is not hard to find though, and my current favorite is drink/meal special at the Globe.

First Week of School

This last week I started the fall semester at the University of Ulster. My first class of the year was accounting for engineers. When I tell most people that I'm taking such a class, they look at me like I'm barbequing a kitten. This may be because it sounds like two horrible things mashed together. I'm sure it won't be a thriller by any means, but I'll bet it will be useful in the long run.

Also on Monday, I discovered the BAR IN THE SUB. This still amazes me, but I was told wrong about the prices. I was expecting to pay about a pound for a drink, but everything is the same price as any pub, between 2 and 3 pounds per drink. I guess that'll help me stay out of the place.

I have no classes on Tuesdays and only a one hour seminar on Wednesdays. This is for the Politics of the Two Irish States class, which has a lecture on Friday. Tuesday was not without excitement. I walked to a Tesco supermarket with two other Americans. We grossly underestimated the distance, and walked for an hour and a half each way. At least the sun was shining.

My third class is an engineering analysis class on Thursdays. I attended two hours of lecture and an hour of tutorial in the morning. This was plenty of math for one day, but I was surprised by a classmate later in the day when he told me that there was another three hour session in the afternoon, not just another section of the same material. Six hours of math in one day sounds like a lot, and it will be. Good thing it's only once a week.

The most obvious difference between classes here and at MSU is the scheduling. American classes tend to be shorter but meet more often during the week. This makes for easier sessions but longer days if you wind up with classes at different ends of the schoolday, as I often do. Classes here meet once a week but for longer sessions. It's nice to have class done all in one shot, but the lectures will feel very long.

On Tuesday, I attended a band night sponsored by the campus christian union. People from the union, some internationals, and freshmen got together. It was a good place to meet some locals. Several internationals also attended the iCafe dinner put on by the same union on Wednesday.

To conclude this long post, I've more or less met all of my flatmates. I've visited with three of them, and the four of us get along well so far. The fifth guy though, is elusive. I've had one official sighting, but only hellos were exchanged. The others have also had similar experiences, and it is generally agreed that he always seems to be in a hurry.

The First Weekend at UUJ

On the 19th I tracked down a very helpful professor who has handled many of the school's international students in the past. The most time-consuming part of registration was figuring out which classes I wanted to take, but once I had that nailed down, the process flew by so fast I didn't realize it happened. I walked into the building quite frustrated and walked out a short time later almost bewildered and holding an official student ID.

That evening I was invited to eat with a Portugese fellow I had only visited with briefly during orientation. We ate, visited, and had some wine in my mostly empty kitchen, as his was already crowded. My opinion of the Portugese, in my two instances of visiting with them, is that they are friendly, very willing to converse, and love their wine. Bruno tends to drink two bottles a day.

On Saturday, I rode my first train into Belfast to see the Garden Gourmet festival at the Botanic Gardens with Bruno, a French-Irish student named David, and two Americans named Zach and Jillian. We explored the park, enjoyed its flowers, trees, and grass and browsed the various exhibits of the festival. Everything from flowers to Bonzai trees to homemade wine were exhibited. The day was quite warm with plenty of sunshine, so we were glad to take advantage of it.

After wandering through Belfast, we rode the train back to the University. We had planned to ride another train north to Carrickfergus to watch the fireworks and Royal Navy Band, but missed not one but two trains. Our best alternative was to buy ice cream, walk to Belfast Lough (the shore), and play in the playground. We watched the fireworks from afar on a very nice evening. I am very grateful to David McAdams for his knowledge of the area and willingness to show around a bunch of foreigners.

On Sunday, 26 international students loaded a bus and rode to Newcastle in County Down. We walked along a deceptively large beach, walked a little into the town, and walked into the Mourne Mountains. It was another sunny afternoon well spent outside. I have a feeling sunny days like that will become a distant, fuzzy memory.

Orientation Week

This week hasn't been terribly exciting. Orientation sessions were exactly as you'd expect. Between the sessions and tours I try to line up necessary details for school, which has been difficult because very little about this university is straightforward, simple, or even described. I have been sent or given no information on registering for classes and have had to seek out the necessary people. The engineering office didn't have a scrap of paperwork about me. I found out who my advisor is this summer, but have yet to find her. I sent her an email yesterday but the soonest I can meet with her is Monday midday, after classes have started. Another American engineering student has had the same runaround, but was told to talk with another professor, which I plan to do, since being able to go to classes is sort of important.

Other things such as student IDs are occasionally hinted at, but the methods of obtaining one are discreet and subtle. Do they have to be smuggled in? Is it like a drug deal?

All of my flatmates are apparently local because only the international students are living in the student housing and I am the only one living in my apartment section. The exception is one Irish kid down the hall who moved in yesterday, registered this morning, then went home again. The place is rather quiet when I'm the only one there.

I got my fiddle out tonight for the first time since I got here. The fun was soon over though when I broke my A string, the only one I don't have a replacement for. I sure hope they let me figure out how to register cause sitting around here is boring, bumming around is rather expensive, and it's a long way home.

Finding my way to school

On Monday morning Etienne and I rode from Portstewart through Coleraine to Belfast. The buses were surprisingly more difficult to work with on a Monday than a Sunday, but eventually I got all the way from the northern coast to Newtownabbey. I found where I was supposed to go without too much trouble. I was very glad to finally set my fiddle and 34 lb pack down, but a little disappointed to have to live out of the pack for at least another day, as the first box that I shipped had not reached Newtownabbey yet.

While exploring the campus that evening I was shocked when the first person I ran into was a girl from White Sulphur who goes to school in Billings. We even knew several of the same people. What a small world this is.

After a night of sleeping on a bare bed under a jacket with pants for a pillow, I started the international students' orientation. Not all the international students were there, but the larger European countries were represented, and about a quarter of the students were from the states. All those I spoke with were quite friendly.

One gentleman I talked to was a computer science student from Calcutta, India. He had worked there in tech support. It is very possible one of you had talked to him while calling Dell to complain about a computer problem. It's just funny to me to actually meet one of them.

At the end of the day I took a walk down the street to the shore. I admired the green hillside behind me, the port in the distance on the other side of the bay, and the ship headed to it.

Arriving in the UK

I flew into Heathrow airport the morning of the 12th. I had misunderstood some entry requirements, and had accidentally left my information in my pack, which I had to check instead of carry on from New York. I was almost denied entry because of this, but was given a visitor's stamp for the time being. There is some work to do there.

I traveled by bus to Stansted airport and flew from there to Belfast. Very tired, I stumbled into Arnie's hostel at about 6 in the evening to find they had one whole bed left, which I claimed. After dropping my pack and fiddle there, I had as Irish an evening as I can imagine: I had fish and chips for dinner, followed by a pint of Beamish stout at one pub and a pint of Harp at another. When I went to bed that night, I believe I had been awake, except for very short naps, for about 31 hours.

The next day, I played pool at a pub with a South African from the hostel. His name is Etienne Wagner, and he is a professional pool shark and free rock climber. Luckily, we didn't play for money. He showed me around the city on a surprisingly sunny day and we went to a club later.

The next day Etienne and I took a bus along the coast to the Giant's Causeway. Rocks there have regular shapes and form in straight columns. It was a great way to get my first good look at the coast of Ireland. From there we traveled to Portstewart and stayed at Rick's Hostel. At one point I was in a room with a Brit, a Portugese guy, an Aussie, a French girl, our host Rick, and the South African. There were some Germans somewhere too. I thought it was quite a mix.

Leaving Montana

I have a lot of catching up to do with this thing, and this is mostly from memory. I flew out of Bozeman on the morning of the 9th. I visited with Gary Flynn in the Denver airport, which was a nice surprise. I got to New York with little trouble, and my cousin Noah was waiting to pick me up. I had dinner with Noah, his fiancee Jean, and some friends of theirs at a Korean barbeque place. Jean did a far better job ordering than I would ever hope to do. I was then taken on a tour of downtown Manhattan, which included driving by the World Trade Center site.

The next day I took on the city by myself. I rode a bus from Weehawken, New Jersey to port authority on 42nd street then took the subway to Spring street, near where Noah works. After having some authentic NYC pizza on Carmine street, I wandered around the area. I had about 5 hours to spend, and in that time I believe I walked at least 40 or so blocks. After being sized for a tux (I am Noah's best man), Noah and Jean took me to a Belgian restaurant. The mussels and Stellas were amazing.

We then went to a comedy club. We watched six or so acts before we decided to head back. The surprise came when the bouncer told us it was a bad time to leave. I looked up the stairs beside me and down strolled Chris Rock. Needless to say, we stayed for his set.

I flew out of the country the following evening, and got to see Noah at port authority on my way to the airport. I am very grateful to Noah and Jean for the hospitality, time, and knowledge of the city. Noah has offered to show me around the city many times, and I'm glad I finally took him up on it.